Edges
by LadySilver
Summary: Allison tries an unusual tactic to pull Scott back from the edge. One shot.


_A/N: Warnings: Het, oral sex, sex in a public location. Comments and constructive criticism always welcomed, especially on stories like this since I'm still trying to learn how to write this genre._

**Edges**

by LadySilver

Allison raised herself up on her toes to kiss Scott, arms snaking behind his back to pull him closer. She'd gotten to school early in hopes of catching him before class, eager to grab as much time with him as she could. Her body still ached from their activities the day before, and it definitely still remembered. When their lips touched, a surge of arousal cut through her that made her thighs tingle and her body warm.

Scott's soft, slightly chapped lips opened to hers; a delighted smile spread to his dark brown eyes. His eyebrows twitched, either at the intensity of the greeting or because of his persistent surprise that she still wanted to kiss him. He murmured a "hey" into her mouth; she ran her hands down his back, over the curve of his butt, oblivious to the activity in the hallway around them. Like every other part of his body, his ass was pure muscle. She gave it a light squeeze through the worn jeans he wore, her thoughts flashing to how it had felt naked beneath her fingers.

Palm flat and sudden on her chest, he pushed her away. She stumbled back a step, the heel of her boot slipping on the vinyl floor. She was still trying to regain her balance, breath caught in an incomplete protest, as he disappeared around the corner. A few eyes from other students walking by found her, commented silently on the altercation they thought they'd seen. Allison felt a defensive blush rise in her cheeks, cut her eyes away quickly before anyone would think she was acknowledging their condemnation. She forced herself to shut down the embarrassment, lips pressed in a tight line. She knew better, could _be_ better.

She found him in the first vacant classroom, hands pressed to the wall near the door, head bowed. He was breathing hard and fast. "Don't," he gasped, when she stepped into the doorway. The lights were out, the room dimmed and gray. Pale light leaked in through the gaps in the dusty blinds hanging over the windows. The room's air was stale, undercut with the harsh chemical scent of dry erase markers.

"Scott?" she asked. She crossed her arms over her chest, shoulders hunching.

"I-I-I can't," he said. He peered at her over the expanse of his arm, its form outlined in red by his long-sleeved shirt. She expected to see wolf eyes and teeth. Didn't. "I can't do this here." His face was hard; Allison wanted to catch it between her hands, use her thumbs to soothe the worry out of his cheeks, smooth down the vein in his temple.

"What's wrong?" She started to step into the room, was stopped at a sharp indrawn hiss from her boyfriend.

His eyes closed. "I smelled you—" Her first instinct was to apologize: Had she forgotten to put her deodorant on?; Skipped a step in the shower?; Put on too much perfume? "God. I want you so bad," he moaned, pressed his forehead against the cinderblock wall of the classroom. Ohh. He'd smelled _that_.

A jolt of pleasure ran through her at his confession. She forgot how amped up his senses were; he didn't often comment on the input they provided. His breath hitched, fingers curled against the wall. "You're on the edge of changing," she commented. He nodded. "Because you can smell me wanting you." He didn't need to nod this time.

"I-i-it's different when it's just you and me," he said, still speaking to the wall. "If I change here…" Yeah, that part she got. Everything her dad had warned her about could happen for real. He'd impressed on her how werewolves reveled in slaughter, how their single-minded purpose was to kill. A school full of people who didn't have a whole lot of room to run would be a tempting target. While she didn't know how much to trust her father's fears, she knew enough not to disregard them. She didn't believe that Scott could be that kind of monster, but she was alone in her faith in his goodness. Scott swallowed hard, his next words still choked, scared. "Not here."

She stepped into the room before he had a chance to talk her out of the action, shut the door with a soft click. The knob had no lock, but the fact that no one was in here suggested that no one would be coming in until at least next hour. "So," she ventured, as much to herself as to him, "if I'm causing this, shouldn't I help fix it?" For his sake, she tamped down her thoughts of what she wanted to do, what they had done. She made herself think about the book the class was reading in English, some fifties coming-of-age story that made no sense to anyone except the teacher. Scott still hadn't answered. Maybe he was afraid to. But he was listening, at least willing to hear her out. If he hadn't been, he'd have run out the door already. "My scent is all over the school. You're not going to be able to get away from it." Chalk that up to a sentence she never thought she'd say with a straight face.

Scott turned around, pressed himself back against the wall. He was still tense, but maybe a little less? His breathing was definitely slower, still too fast. "What are you doing?" His nose tipped up, nostrils flaring as he no doubt tried to figure out why her scent had changed.

"Trying to help," she answered, taking careful steps toward him, alert for the possibility that she really could be pushing things too far. "How much control do you have?" She shoved her hands into her front pockets, not sure what else to do with them for the moment.

He huffed out a strained laugh. "Not much." He squeezed his eyes shut in a long blink.

"You're not going to make it through the day if this is what a hello kiss did to you." Keeping her voice soft and even was a challenge, and she had to keep reminding herself that Scott's instincts weren't entirely human. As much as she wanted to _want_, to let the suggestions into her tone, she couldn't. "Are you going to run from class every time you smell me thinking about yesterday?" She smiled at the memory, saw him tense up.

A frustrated rumble escaped his throat, an actual growl that brought her up short. Allison forced her brain to catalogue French verbs, to ponder the mystery of gendered nouns and adjectives. _Anything_ else besides where her mind wanted to go, and it really did want to go there. She'd done little else but think about what they had done yesterday, except for all the things she wanted to try today and tomorrow.

"That's my point," she said. "You're too close to the edge. We need to pull you back." She had an idea about how to do that, one she was pretty sure would work if she could keep herself composed. He fed off her responses, so keeping hers calmed should keep him from totally losing control. She hoped. She reached out to him, ran her hands down his sides. His breath caught, but he didn't fight, didn't flinch.

Taking that as a promising sign, she drew her hands together at the top of his jeans and rested her thumbs on the button that secured them. He went absolutely still, eyes wide in shock or anticipation. They were a solid, soft brown; she undid the button. His chin quivered slightly.

"See, you're doing OK. You're doing fine," she reassured him as she pulled down his zipper. He was breathing in tight, shallow gasps. Hooking her fingers into his waistband, she shimmied his jeans and boxers down. He made a strangled squeak, bit his lower lip so hard that she could see the edges of his front teeth start to turn red. "OK?" she asked. He dipped his chin in a shallow nod.

She lowered herself to her knees, hesitated in front of him, surprised at her own audacity. She breathed in, the warm, savory smell of his maleness, setting off a tingle from below her belly. Verbs. Intransitive. Transitive. Ditransitive. How many examples of each could she list? In French. Leaning forward, she took him into her mouth, tasting him, tasting his salt. His knees went out. He dropped suddenly a few inches, caught himself, locked his legs. "Oh, god," he moaned. Then, softer, like the first part had really been the beginning of a prayer, "Don't change. Please. Don't change."

She dragged her mouth down his length, up and back, enveloping him. He was still praying, though not with words she could understand. One time before she'd done this and she remembered what her then-boyfriend had liked. Sliding Scott all the way in, she hummed in the back of her throat. She heard a crunching, followed by a softer pattering, like rain falling in the distance. His hips started to move, thrusting. She let him, held her own head in place, tightened her lips, wrangled him with her tongue on each pass. She was pulling incoherent whimpers and groans out of him like a magician pulls scarves out of his sleeves. A wetness spread between her legs, a twitching of muscles inside her body that called to have him there. If they hadn't been in school … if she didn't have to worry about him falling over the wrong edge … His thrusting was growing faster, fiercer.

Allison blanked her mind again, put her hands on his hips, pushed back. He could hurt her with his strength, and she had promised that she wouldn't let him. He seemed to understand, slowed his movements. He was whimpering. She looked up, past the edge of his shirt, past the heaving muscles of his chest. His head was crushed to the wall, eyes squeezed shut, and the side of his hand was buried in his mouth, his teeth buried in the flesh. Returning her attention lower, she covered him with her mouth and her fingers, her saliva smoothing the friction of her strokes. Her only warning of finality was a grunt, then he was coming. She swallowed with each pulse until there was nothing left.

When it was done, she stood up, wiped her lips on the back of her hand. He was flushed, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His eyes were open, pupils so wide she couldn't see his irises to tell their color. He was staring at nothing somewhere to the left of her shoulder, a sappy grin fixed on his face. Since he didn't yet seem capable of it, she pulled his jeans back up and made him as presentable as possible. She sneezed. Rubbing her nose, she looked around for the source of the irritant. Her eyes landed on the wall behind Scott. Twin gouges had been dug into the cinderblock right at hip level. She saw that his fingers were dusted in white power, a thin layer of which also lay on the floor around his feet and on his shoes.

"Scott," she called. He didn't respond. She tried again, shaking his shoulder.

He blinked, rolled his head, looked around the room. She could see him processing the classroom, taking in the desks lined up in unstable rows, the scattered streams of light coming in through the pulled blinds, the whiteboard blanked for another day. From the hall, she could hear the muffled slams of lockers and pounding of feet, the tapestry of conversation. The clock over the classroom's door clicked, whirred, then gave a thunk as it ticked off one more minute closer to the first period bell. Scott looked down toward his crotch. "Wow," he mouthed. "Did that—did that just happen?" He met her eyes, his own growing panicked. "That shouldn't have happened. Not here. What if someone had walked in o-or—"

She put a finger over his lips, shushing him with a gentle touch. "No one walked in," she said. "No one saw anything, no one heard anything. But—" She gestured to the wall behind him. What was she supposed to say about that? What were they supposed to _do_ about that? "You're going to have to wash your hands."

Scott turned his palms over in front of them. White dust was caked under his fingernails; blood streaked the side of his left hand from where he'd bitten it. He made a strange sound, eyes crinkled in chagrin. "Maybe we shouldn't do this again?" The suggestion was tentative, as if he hoped she'd be able to talk him out of it.

Allison nodded, choosing to be serious. Then tugging him playfully away from the wall, she pressed her body full length to his, no longer trying to hide her desires. "Let's hope we don't need to." She kissed him. He kissed back. "At least, not in school." She grinned, touched her forehead to his—tried not to think about how many minutes until the final bell rang.

END

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><p><em>AN: Up next, part 4 of "_Death Defiant_," the _Teen Wolf/Highlander _crossover._


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